


A Knack For This

by Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Feral Behavior, How Do I Tag, Hunting, Lycans, M/M, Vampires, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 13:18:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot/pseuds/Niji_Hitomi_Iscariot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Gamzee is cursed by something the Merry Group of Friends have never seen before, is he too far gone to save? Or can Tavros get through to him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Knack For This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [papabrostrider](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=papabrostrider).
  * Inspired by [Gunslinger Tragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/27416) by papabrostrider. 



* * *

You don't know what he is, exactly. He's not Lycan, because he can't control his shifts, but he doesn't look like a werewolf, and Jake says his scent isn't right either. Vriska says he's a liability. The others mostly stay out of his way anymore. It's not like being bitten, or being turned, was something that anybody in your group could really judge him for. Your brother gives you this look like half the time he thinks you're crazy and half the time he thinks you're REALLY crazy.

But you don't care. They've never seen him in the moonlight, right after he shifts, when he's chasing down some deer-like critter or something. He's like liquid silver, all sleek and shining. Except for the dark patches on his face. He doesn't see himself in the moonlight either.

You've been watching him. Every night since that whatever-it-was-that-wasn't-Lycan-or-werewolf attacked him. The first night, when he changed for the first time, he rampaged out of the camp, seemingly with enough thought to know not to hurt any of you, or the horses needed to carry your equipment. They were terrified of him, of course, but you and your brother calmed them down soon enough. He didn't come back for several days after that.

"Hunting, motherfucker," was what he said, and he proved it by slinging a freshly peeled skin full of rabbit, deer, and bird carcasses in the center of the camp.

Then he'd stalked off to be alone. Said he didn't want anybody to follow him. Karkat did though, because he disappeared while you, Rufioh, and the Amporas were sorting the cache. When he came back the vampire had nothing to say, except;

"Leave him the fuck alone."

If anybody knew what it felt like to be turned into something you inherently hated, it was Karkat. So, they all listened, and left him the fuck alone.

Except you.

You saw him shift again, seamlessly, into that miracle beast of silver and ebony fur. You also watched him try to hurt himself, chasing his tail for hours trying to rip it off, scratching his arms and legs, and throwing himself into the canyon nearby, where you fetched water every day.

He did the same thing in the camp after that, and the camp after that. For several days, when the moon rose, and he shifted, he tried to kill himself, always failing, always trying again. When he grew bored of the attempts, he hunted. The camp was no longer hungry at all, and all of the increased protein helped the Striders heal better, and the vampires feed better. So, really it was only Vriska who complained, in her usual way, and even then, you knew no one in camp would listen to her, she never stuck around long enough to really have an influence anyway.

Then, one night, almost six months after he’d been attacked, he stopped trying. He hunted, brought down a moose, or an elk, once it was a black bear, and then he just lay there. Watching the moon in the sky like it would remove the curse, or stop shining.

After a week of this behavior, you decide you have to do something about it.

You wait until the moon is high in the sky, then strip down to nothing but your pants, shirt, and underthings. You deliberately bathe to remove as much of the gunpowder smell as you can, not that it would ever fully come off though. But you try, because Dave told you once that gunpowder to a Lycan’s nose is nasty as fuck. Then you slip between the wagons and make your way through the prairie grass, up the small incline to the top of the hill where he broods.

As soon as you’re in visual range, he jerks, as though you ripped his attention away from his thoughts. His lip curls and his ears flick, uncertain whether to fall back in fear or prick forward in anger. You raise your hands to show you’re harmless. He bristles as you step closer, but you maintain eye contact because Dirk told you that all canine shapeshifters respond to dominance. You don’t want to dominate him exactly though, just you can’t let him dominate you instead. So you keep your teeth carefully covered and your palms out in submission, while refusing to back down or look away.

You see it put him on edge, but you also know he hasn’t lost himself to the beast, because there were mornings where you found him curled up next to the fire in the center of the camp like he’d just passed out on night watch.

“…Uh, Gamzee?” You ask quietly, but all you get in response was a growl.

He climbs to his feet, and wow…he…wow…that is a really big wolf thing. You, in all your six and half feet of height, don’t even stand as tall as his shoulder. If he was any other supernatural wolf you’d be terrified by now. But he isn’t. For all his growling, and bared teeth, and raised hackles, his ears fall back against his head, and his tail tucks close to his leg. He’s terrified of you, far more than you are of him.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, you know?”

His growl softens, but his teeth stay bare.

You’re within striking range by now. He could reach out and snap you in half like a twig in those jaws. Or brain you with a swipe of his taloned paw, but he doesn’t. He raises one hand-like forepaw and steps closer to you, his nose going faster than your heartbeat. It’s like he’s trying to process you. The wolf in his brain says you were an enemy but you could see in his black-on-gold-on-black eyes that it’s Gamzee at the controls.

You reach out, in spite of the sounds he makes, in spite of the danger, and lay a hand on his muzzle. Slowly, so slowly, his growling stops, and his canine lips come down to cover his teeth. You stroke the silky fur of what you can reach and he snorts at you, hot breath like the wind buffeting your body. It makes you take a half-step back, and you’re glad you do because then he shakes off, just like a great dog, to settle his hackles again. His tongue lolls out of his mouth then, and his tail comes up in a slow wag.

You chance a smile, and he knocks you over, bumping his head against your chest. A massive hand-paw on either side of your body, and he licks you, hiking your shirt up nearly to your nose, and soaking your hair. You laugh and squirm, and he does it again, his tail wagging like a great fan behind him.

The Striders can’t explain what he is, so the fact that you got through to him baffles them all the more. But Gamzee stopped being depressed after that night. And the only answer you get out of anyone comes from Egbert.

He says, “Tav, you’ve just got a knack for that sort of thing."


End file.
